


Black Sheep

by Jukebox_Draws



Category: BATDR - Fandom, Batim - Fandom, Bendy and the Ink Machine, bendy - Fandom
Genre: Animation, Gen, Good Guy Bendy (Bendy and the Ink Machine), Good Guy Boris (Bendy and the Ink Machine), Horror, Ink, Joey Drew Studios, Survival Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:41:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28098582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jukebox_Draws/pseuds/Jukebox_Draws
Summary: Linda Stein is devastated to learn that her husband, Henry, has gone missing after visiting his old place of work. After two years of an unsuccessful investigation by the local police, she hires a private investigator to get to the bottom of this.Carla Rose doesn't expect this case to be any different than the other missing persons cases she's dealt with before. But her expectations are far from the reality...Trapped within the depths of this inky hell, will Carla be the key these souls need to break the cycle, and be set free?
Relationships: Alice Angel/Bendy (Bendy and the Ink Machine), Bendy & Henry Stein, Henry Stein/Linda Stein, Joey Drew/Henry Stein, Norman Polk & Henry Stein, Sammy Lawrence/Henry Stein
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23
Collections: BATIM, Bendy And The Ink Machine, Bendy and the Ink Machine (BATIM), bendy/henry





	1. Discussions of The Unknown

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not quite sure where this is going but I started writing it anyway! It starts slow at the beginning but hopefully it'll get better.

The building was huge. It’s darkened form cast a shadow on the streets and shops below. Those who passed by it told stories and rumors about what happened there. Those who were brave enough to get close to the building and peek through the boards on the windows said they saw shadows moving inside the darkness of the buildings inner workings. Anything that went into that building never came out the same. 

If they came out at all… 

Recently, some people had gone missing after visiting the building. The local police weren’t able to track any of the missing people, and their families couldn’t give detailed accounts either other than the time they left the home, and the time when they were supposed to return. The local police had heard the rumors and stories about the place, and most of them refused to go in, and those who wanted to brave the danger would not do so alone. So, the cases were left unanswered… 

Until one of the spouses of a victim decided to take things into her own hands, and hire a private investigator. 

Not too far from the ominous building stood a house. It was a simple house, a pale blue color on the outside with white window panes and a white porch. A perfectly trimmed green lawn with a few decorations scattered throughout the shrubbery, worn down from being exposed to the elements. A white picket fence outlined the property. It was like something out of a storybook.

A car pulled up onto the cement driveway of the house. The car was a tan and brown wagoneer, nothing distinguishing about it. The vehicle was parked and out stepped a woman. The woman looked to be in her mid 30’s. She squinted her dark brown eyes as she came into the light of the sun from the darker light in the car. Her copper skin matched her short, dark, curly hair perfectly as it shone in the sun. She rolled up the sleeves of her white blouse and fixed her dark bootleg jeans as she strode up to the front door; her black shoes making a slight clomping noise as she walked. She held a black briefcase in her right hand.

The woman knocked on the door four times and awaited a response. The door opened and another woman was standing there. This woman’s skin was pale and a little wrinkled from age. Her green eyes lit up when she saw the woman at her door. She quickly fixed her wavy bob length brown hair and extended a hand to shake.

“Oh! You must be Ms. Carla Rose! I’m Linda Stein!” 

“Thank you for having me over Mrs. Stein.”

Carla shook hands with Linda as she was invited inside. The house was just as pretty on the inside as it was on the outside. The walls were a cream white color, which complemented the blue and grey furniture. The wool rug had a pretty pattern stitched into it, Carla noticed as she passed through the foyer and into the kitchen. On the kitchen island she also noticed a folded newspaper with a rather disturbing headline. 

“Local Artist Pushed Himself Too Far, Found Dead At Desk”

Carla raised an eyebrow. She was told over the phone that this was an investigation of a missing person, not a dead person. But Carla wasn’t afraid to get her hands dirty, whether it be murder or kidnapping.

“Can I get you a drink? Or maybe a cookie?” Linda reached into the refrigerator to grab some lemonade. 

“Just lemonade is fine.” Carla replied in a monotone voice as Linda grabbed two glasses from the cabinet. 

After being served her drink, the two women sat across from each other at the dining room table. 

“Now, to business…” Carla placed her briefcase on the table and opened it. Inside there were stacks of papers, mostly case profiles, the victims birth certificate and other legal documents. 

“Your husband… Henry… we discussed his disappearance over the phone about a week ago.” Carla’s voice was calm as she gave Linda a paper with a copy of a man’s drivers license on it; her husband’s drivers license.

“This is my husband.” Linda looked longingly at the photograph of her husband. Carla continued.

“When was he last seen?” Carla questioned, shuffling through the stack of papers.

“He was last seen two years ago… I remember the day.” Linda began, “He had received a letter. It was from an old friend of his. He said that he wanted to meet my husband at their old place of work to speak to him.”

Carla took out her notepad and began to write down what Linda was saying, making sure to take note of every detail of where the victim was, and when.

“It seemed odd…” Linda continued, “It had been nearly 30 years since either of them had spoken to each other. But Henry, stubborn old man he is, insisted on going… He left that afternoon and… that was the last time I saw him…”

Carla finished writing and sipped her lemonade. It tasted pretty good, despite a little too much sugar being added.

“So the last known sighting of the victim was in this house… two years ago?” She asked. Linda nodded.

“He hasn’t been seen at all since then? No neighbors or friends recall seeing him?” As Linda shook her head again, Carla’s eyes wandered to a photo hanging from the wall. It was a family Christmas photo, Linda was holding her husband’s hand while, what Carla assumed to be their child, stood in front of them. She took a good look at Henry.

He was an older man, probably in his late 50s to mid 60s. His dark hair was partially faded to grey and his face was slightly wrinkled from age like his wife. His brown eyes still held brightness and life to them as old as he looked. His lips were open in a lively smile that lit up the whole photo somehow. His face was covered with stubble, probably due to being rushed to take the photo, and his goatee was almost completely faded to grey. He was wearing an ugly Christmas sweater with the words “I paid for this” written in obnoxious Christmas lights. It made Carla smirk.

She turned back to Linda.

“I noticed the newspaper clipping on your kitchen counter… does that pertain to the case in any way?” Carla made sure to choose her words carefully. Linda stood up and retrieved the newspaper. As she sat down she handed it to Carla. 

“I know my husband is alive… They told me to keep everything under wraps and that it was better this way… But my husband is alive, Ms. Rose, I can feel it.” Linda clenched a fist. 

“Do you know where he was supposed to be going?” Carla asked as she carefully set the newspaper down on top of the stack of documents. Linda ran a hand through her bangs and sighed. 

“He was supposed to be going to his old workplace… Joey Drew Studios… it’s just down the street.”

Carla remembered the ominous building she passed by on the way to Linda’s house. She assumed that was where she meant.

“That strange abandoned office building?” 

Linda nodded in confirmation, and Carla packed up her things.

“Would you mind taking me there? I’d like to see for myself.”

Linda nodded again and drove with Carla down the street to the building. It stood there, tall and ominous as always. The sight of the building gave Carla an uneasy feeling in her stomach. She hoped that it was just nerves; though the boarded up windows and door didn’t help.

“So this is where your husband went?” Carla went up to the door and noticed there was a sign nailed to it. It read, “Warning: Beware Danger, Do Not Enter” Carla went over to one of the boarded up windows and peered inside. It was dark inside, so she couldn’t see much. She saw the wooden panels of the wall and a broken wooden chair just before the rest of the room became shrouded in darkness. Linda was trembling slightly when Carla turned back to her. 

“I’ll have to come back tomorrow once I get a warrant to enter… it's an abandoned building, so they’ll probably give me one without much of a fight.” Carla sighed and backed away from the building back towards the car.


	2. Dreams Come True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carla visits the studio, and discovers something isn't quite right...

The next day, Carla came alone. She told Linda that she wouldn’t stop until she got to the bottom of her husband's disappearance. She wouldn’t stop until she delivered Linda her husband, alive or dead, it didn’t really matter anymore. 

She drove quietly in her car, deep in thought as she passed through intersections and turned down the proper streets. She had a small assemblage of papers in the passenger's seat. Carla listened to the hum of the engine and the sound of the tires rolling over the asphalt.

The night before, she had done some research in regards to this “friend” that Henry was supposed to be visiting, Joey Drew. Turns out that Joey Drew was the owner of Joey Drew Studios and produced cartoons during the Golden Age of animation from 1929 to 1945 when the studio closed down due to bankruptcy. 

Carla had also found an old photo of the studio when it first opened. There were two men standing in front of a ribbon that stretched across the front doors of the building. There was a sign above the door that said, Joey Drew Studios in big bold letters, along with the studios logo; a little cartoon devil they called Bendy. Thanks to the local librarian, Carla was able to watch a few of the cartoons from the studio. They were rather short, Carla noted, but appropriate for the time period. 

The two men in the photo were smiling wide. One of them looked similar, that must’ve been Henry. He was much younger, and his hair was darker. He didn’t have any facial hair and he had a pencil behind his ear. The other man, Carla didn’t recognize. That must be Joey Drew. He had a pencil thin mustache and dark hair slicked back with gel. He had a pair of thin wire glasses on his face that Carla suspected were fake and only worn to make him look more professional. While Henry was wearing a simple dress shirt and suspenders with slacks, Joey was wearing a full business suit that was pressed and ironed. It looked expensive.

Carla’s car parked in front of the studio. She tapped her foot for a moment against the floor of the car as she slowly and thoughtfully unplugged her keys from the ignition. She looked at the old photo of the studio, then back at the real one sitting in front of her. The sign with the logo had been removed, but the metal bars and bolts that kept the sign bolted to the building were still hanging out of the wood. Carla stepped out of the car and walked up to the door, tucking the paperwork for the warrant into the pocket of her pants. She grabbed a crowbar out of the backseat of her car and pried the boards off the rickety old door.

Once all 4 boards were on the ground, the rusty iron nails that held them in place scattered across the ground, Carla grabbed the door handle. It was old and rusty just like the nails. It took a bit of pushing to force the door open. It made a hideous creaking noise that sounded like nails on a chalkboard. 

The building was just as dismal on the inside as it was on the outside. The studio was dark, dreary and covered with dust. The floorboards creaked as Carla stepped past the threshold and into the foyer. As soon as she was inside the building, she heard the door slam shut behind her. She whipped around and tugged at the knob, the door wouldn't budge. The uneasy feeling in Carla’s stomach began to worsen. 

“Suppose there’s no turning back now…” Carla half-joked to no one in particular. Now she was wishing she brought the crowbar with her. She adjusted the collar of her blouse as she turned back around to continue her investigation.

Carla slowly walked down the hallway into the main lobby of the studio. She had brought a flashlight with her out of suspicion that it would be dark inside, but surprisingly she could see just fine. She noticed the yellowing posters on the wall. The corners of the laminated paper were curling and tearing from age. Carla read the titles of the cartoons that were being advertised, “Little Devil Darlin’”, “Sheep Songs” and “The Dancing Demon”. Carla stepped into the bigger lobby and took in her surroundings. There was a running projector in the corner showing a blank reel, several hastily made wooden chairs scattered around the room, and a receptionist's desk. Behind the desk there was the logo for the studio again. Joey Drew Studios in big bold letters behind three slowly turning film reels. Carla was surprised that this place got electricity still for the reels to even turn.

Carla also noticed a few cardboard cutouts of the studio's mascot, Bendy, scattered randomly throughout the room. Bendy was a cartoon demon with a huge white toothed grin. His little round pudgy body gave way to a pair of stocky short legs connected to big black tap shoes. His white gloved hands rested at his sides in an unsettling claw like position. 

Carla stared into one of the cutouts black pie-cut eyes. Those eyes always made her uncomfortable no matter how much she saw them. She cleared her throat, though she didn’t speak, and pushed the cutout out of the way as she chose a random hallway to travel down.

Papers were scattered across the floor and stuck to the walls with pins and nails. Carla took one of the loosely held papers down, careful not to tear it. It had a sketch of Bendy on it. The little devil was in a running position. Carla let the sketch drop to the floor as she continued on, taking note of all the posters and papers, and all the eyes and grins staring back at her.

Carla noticed a desk in the corner of the room. It was covered with papers and dust. Carla noticed the details of the wood-grain and the name etched into the wood.

“Henry Stein…” Carla muttered out loud. Her voice echoed in the empty hallways, despite the softness of it. Carla observed how the desk was structured and the rusty clamps attached to it. This was an animators desk. Carla had been told in advance that Henry’s former occupation was head animator of a cartoon studio, she just wasn’t given any specifics though, no matter how much she asked for more information. It was almost as if the police didn’t care about these people at all.

Carla made her way down another hallway, as she turned the corner she flinched slightly seeing the writing on the wall in big bold black letters.

‘DREAMS COME TRUE’

Carla scrunched up her nose as she sniffed the air. She recognized the smell of chloroform drifting through the musty air as she noticed the leak in the corner of the ceiling. Except it wasn’t a water or sewage leak like she had expected. The substance was dark, black, thick and dripping. Carla got closer to the steady stream and observed it closer. 

“Ink?” Carla raised an eyebrow as she backed away from the substance, and the smell. She turned back to the writing on the walls. 

“Dreams come true?” She said aloud to herself. She gave the writing one last look over before slowly continuing down the hallway. This place was weird…

Carla counted at least 3 doors, all of which she tried. They were all locked much to her dismay. She heard the creak of chains and wood and turned her head down to the end of the hall. She noticed the Ink Output Schedule plastered onto the wall. The handwriting was hectic and scribbly. Carla concluded that the purpose of the schedule was to keep track of ink usage. But for what? Surely no studio needed 430 gallons of ink! Carla looked past the schedule and into the room at the end of the hall. It was a large room full of dust and shadows. Carla squinted as she looked up at the wooden ceiling from her spot on the balcony. The wood had warped and bent so sunlight could come in through the cracks to illuminate the room further. 

“What’s down there?” Carla stared down over the railing to the dark hole in the floor about 40 feet down from where she was standing. Long metal chains made their way out of the hole to the ceiling where they were held up by a rusty pulley system. The chains swayed in the gentle breeze; it created the creaking sound that Carla had heard earlier.

Carla began to observe the balcony she was standing on. To her left there was another Bendy cutout in the corner as well as a shelf and a large metal chest. To her right there was a lever for the pulley and an empty battery compartment. There were two spaces for two batteries.

“Huh… Wonder if this place has working dry cells…” Carla noticed one on the shelf as she aimlessly looked around for batteries. She took it off the shelf and slid it into its place. Looking into the metal chest she saw a large iron gear and another battery. She slid that battery into its place and pulled the lever, being gentle as to not break it. The creaking lever activated the pulley. The chains squeaked as they strained to pull up that heavy object from the depths of the hole. 

It was a huge machine, but it wasn’t like anything Carla had ever seen before. It had a large cube shaped base with gears attached. Carla noted the huge black barrell bolted to the back of the machine labeled ‘INK’. The spout of the machine was coated with the black sticky substance probably from being used. For what purpose, Carla still wasn’t sure. Honestly, this studio did nothing but freak her out; and this ink machine added to the feeling of uneasiness that was already growing worse by the minute within her stomach.

After staring at the machine for a few minutes, taking into account every detail for possible police reports, Carla went down the second hallway to the left of the first. That hallway then split into two more hallways. She decided to go right this time. This hallway split off into two rooms. The first room on the right was some sort of break room. There were six pedestals placed against two walls opposite each other. Carla observed the black silhouetted pictures on the walls, a book, an inkwell, a silhouette of Bendy, a music note, a wrench and a gear. This room was rather boring, so Carla moved onto the room to the left. 

This room was rather interesting.

In the middle of the room, there was a pool of ink surrounded by hastily made candles inside what appeared to be cut in half metal cans. Standing straight and tall in the middle of the pool of ink was a table. It was a kind of table you would see asylum patients strapped onto in Hannibal Lector style drama shows. Strapped to the table was a cartoon character, it’s chest ripped open and it’s insides made from ink splattered all over the floor at Carla’s feet. It’s eyes were somehow in the shape of Xs indicating that it was in fact, dead. The creature was wearing a pair of overalls that were splattered with the ink dripping from it’s chest cavity. It’s long snout and floppy ears also gave Carla enough information to conclude that it was some sort of cartoon dog or wolf. Carla’s lungs scrunched and her chest tightened as the smell of ink and, somehow, rotting flesh filled her lungs. She remembered seeing this creature on the poster in the entrance hall. 

“What the hell happened in this place?” Carla coughed as she backed away from the room and the dead creature before her. She caught sight of the writing on the wall as she was leaving.

‘WHO’S LAUGHING NOW?’


	3. You Left Me In A Heartbeat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carla begins to suspect that this studio isn't all that it seems.
> 
> And that Joey Drew wasn't all that he seemed either...

Carla desperately wanted to leave this place. She wanted to get back up and come back with the reassurance of other people nearby. But no matter how many times she tried the door it wouldn’t budge. Carla sneered at the exit sign nailed to the doorframe above her.

She figured that as long as she was stuck here she might as well find out more about this strange machine. Carla double checked the walls as she made her way back into the break room. She distinctly remembered the boarded up windows. Where were they now?

Carla had noticed several of the items in the picture frames scattered around the various rooms that she’s visited so far. She figured that must’ve been what the pedestals were for. So, she made her way back down the tight winding corridors to retrieve the objects. The gear from the metal chest on the balcony, the record from the room with the mysterious radio, the book from the recreation room, the wrench from the room with the strange dissected creature. There were still two items missing, the silhouette of Bendy and the strange bottle. 

Carla traveled down the hallway to her left, she hadn't been down there yet. Before she could make her way down the long stretch of corridor, she noticed there was a large tape recorder sitting on one of the hastily made wooden chairs. It looked to be an older model of tape recorder, different from the one Carla preferred to use during her investigations. She pressed the play button, then wiped her finger on her pants. Who knows how many germs this place contained. The whole studio seemed like one large health hazard to Carla. No wonder the place shut down.

“At this point, I don’t get what Joey’s plan is for this company. The animations sure aren’t being finished on time anymore; and I certainly don’t see why we need this… machine. It’s noisy, it’s messy and who needs that much ink anyway?”

The voice was a bit distorted from the tape recorder but Carla could tell the voice was a male one. He had a heavy New York accent, fitting for a studio located in New Jersey. The voice was higher pitched, the kind of voice that gets annoying if you hear it enough. Carla read the label on the back of the recorder, ‘Voice of: Wally Franks (Janitor)’.

“Also, get this,” The man, Wally Franks, continued, “Joey made each one of us donate something from our work stations. We put them on these little pedestals in the break room. To help appease the gods, Joey says, keep things goin’. I say he’s lost his mind but, hey he writes the checks! But, I’ll tell you what: If one more of these pipes bursts, I’m outta here…”

The recording ended with a click as the device switched off on its own. Carla set the recorder down and wiped her hand on her pants again, removing the dust from her hand and staining her black slacks with the light yellowish brown dust. Carla sighed.

“So Mr. Drew was some sort of...pagan?” Carla wished she remembered to bring her notepad. She’d have to write it all down once she got back, so she tried her best to remember. She was never good with remembering these sorts of things, though she could remember exactly how many glasses of orange juice she had for breakfast this morning. It was one of her weird quirks, remembering random and often strange details.

She turned to face the long stretch of corridor she was facing before getting distracted by the audio recording. She began to walk down the hall, the floorboards creaking underneath her black dress shoes. She had another feeling in the pit of her stomach different from the one she had earlier when she brought up the ink machine from its depths. She felt like she was being watched…

Carla hung a right into the room at the end of the hall. It was a little theatre with a projector at the back of the room and three rows of wooden chairs in front of the large sheet of projector screen on the far wall. There was a tiny wheel labeled ‘Ink Pressure Valve’. This must’ve been where they previewed the cartoons before they were released to the public. 

Carla saw a tiny little plushie sitting in one of the chairs, as if waiting for a show to start. It was a Bendy plushie, no bigger than Carla's face. She tried to remember to herself that Joey Drew Studio’s was popular enough in its prime to merit a toy line.

Carla suddenly remembered the framed picture of the Bendy outline, this plushie must be one of the objects, considering it was small enough to fit on the pedestal. Carla picked it up and made her way back to the breakroom to place the plushie in it’s spot on the pedestal. There was only one object missing now; the little bottle.

Carla didn’t remember seeing anything of interest that looked like what the picture was depicting. She figured the bottle must’ve been some sort of ink well, considering the circumstances of the place she was in. She made her way back to Henry’s desk. Henry was the artist, so she concluded that if anyone had the inkwell in their possession it would be him. His desk led off into another room full of more desks and more animation stations. Some of them looked like the people got up and left for their lunch break, but never returned. The unfinished drawings and sketches of walk cycles for characters remain untouched and incomplete. 

Carla noticed the inkwell sitting on the shelf near a desk in the corner. As she grabbed it carefully, she also saw a drawing of Bendy sitting on the desk. The little devil sat quietly on thin air as he smiled into the distance, his hands tucked together neatly between his legs. Carla noted how much Bendy looked like a child, a little toddler waiting patiently for something, or someone.

Carla went to leave the room. But, just before she crossed the threshold into the hallway the feeling of being watched spiked within her gut. She whipped around expecting a confrontation but the room was empty. Just the desks and the chairs and-

The drawing of Bendy had changed… 

Carla shuffled back to the desk and she confirmed that the devil had changed positions. He was no longer sitting with his legs kicked out from underneath him. He was now standing on his tiptoes, one leg stuck out in the air and his arms stretched high above his head as he smiled. Carla backed away cautiously and quickly left the room.

She now hated that smile more than she did when she entered this place.

Carla placed the inkwell on the pedestal and looked towards the big switch labeled ‘MAIN POWER’. The little screen began to blink with the words ‘Low Pressure’ in blinking yellow letters. Carla quickly speed-walked to the little theatre, remembering the pressure valve there. But as she turned the corner she jumped as a cardboard cutout poked its round grinning head out from behind the wall. It stayed there for only a second before disappearing behind the corner again. 

“Hello?” Carla called. She didn’t remember hearing anyone enter or exit the building. She didn’t see any doors that led to the outside. She turned the corner to see the cutout leaning against the wall, still and lifeless. Carla poked it with a shaky hand, it did nothing. She felt a shiver run up her spine as she continued into the theatre towards the valve. 

As she crossed the threshold into the room, she heard the click and the whur of the projector. She looked up and saw a projection of Bendy. He was swaying his body from side to side and tilting his head accordingly to the beat of the music. It was a jazzy tune that relied on the trombone section a little too much for Carla’s taste. 

Carla tried to come up with a logical explanation, figuring that the projector must have some sort of automatic timer on it. She tiptoed past the projector, her shadow casting darkness over the room before being filled with the projectors light again. Carla gripped the valve wheel in her fists and turned it. The valve made an ear splitting screech as it turned and the sound of ink flowing filled the room. Suddenly, there was a loud crash, the sound of broken metal hitting the wooden floor as a pipe burst open. The pipe was probably weak from years of not being used. Ink began to flow from the hole in the pipe and spill out onto the floor. The black icky substance spread across the floor as if it were alive and set free with a vengeance.

Carla tried her best to avoid the gross stinking liquid, but it moved too quickly and she got it on her shoes. Thankfully, her shoes were already black so it wouldn’t stain much.

She went back to the break room to see the blinking yellow letters changed to ‘Ready’. She sighed in relief that the fetch quest was over. She used her weight to push the lever down. The lights dimmed as all the power in the building was diverted to the ink machine. She made her way back to the balcony quickly, hoping this machine would offer answers for something, at this point, anything.

“That definitely wasn’t there before…” Carla muttered under her breath as she saw that the entrance way to the balcony was now boarded up with ink covered wood. The iron nails looked hastily done, as if someone set it up while Carla was busy gathering items. 

She heard the whirring and turning of metal and gears from the machine. She slowly stepped closer. She didn’t believe in the supernatural, but she had a bad feeling about whatever person, or thing, put those boards on the doorway; as if trying to protect Carla from whatever the machine had produced in the thirty seconds it was operational.

Carla reached her hand out towards the boards.

It all happened too fast for Carla to even process. First, she saw a hand reach for her, a black hand with three fingers dripping with ink. It’s fingers were long and bony. It made a grab for her before reeling back. Next, Carla saw a face. It wasn’t a human face, and it’s smile was definitely not human either. It’s eyes were completely covered with ink, and some of the ink dripped down over its two dimensional smile. The grin was plastered onto its face, trembling with rage and aggression. It’s large horns curved inward towards each other. 

But as soon as it appeared and made a grab, it was gone.

And Carla was running.

She ran down the corridor as it collapsed behind her. Ink filled the hallway as she ran past the various doorways. All the doors slammed shut as she passed them, and ink spewed from the cracks underneath the door, splashing Carla in the process. 

Carla felt the adrenaline rush through her as she didn’t dare look back to see if the foul creature she saw earlier was chasing her. She tried to make a turn into the main room, but the ceiling collapsed and ink flooded the room, creating a thick goopy wall. She was cornered like a mouse in a maze as she turned to the only way out; the main exit.

Carla felt like this was planned, as if the ceiling giving out in those specific spots was intentional. But, between the exit that was slowly creaking open to reveal the light outside and the hideous distorted creature she had just laid eyes on, she had no choice. She ran towards the exit with more desperation than ever. Just as she was about to lay her hand on the doorknob; she felt the floor give out from underneath her feet.

And she fell.


	4. A Rumbling In The Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carla travels deeper into the studio.

She opened her eyes. Her head was pounding and her temples ached. Her chest felt tight and her limbs felt numb. Carla groaned as she slowly regained consciousness. Once she was able to feel her limbs again, she slowly sat up. She felt her back crack and she let out a hiss of pain. She looked around the room she was now in. It carried the same monotone color scheme all the other rooms did. There was a file cabinet in the corner leaning up against a set of shelves. Dirty black pipes ran along the walls and disappeared into the wood again. She looked up to where she fell from. She couldn’t see the floor she fell from, only darkness and the ink dripping from the ceiling. The sound of creaking wood and metal filled her ears as the ceiling struggled to hold itself together after that stunt.

Carla slowly made her way to her feet, using the nearby shelf to support herself. She looked down at her clothes to see they were stained with ink. Her legs were completely covered up to her knees at least with the sticky black substance. Her white shirt was stained beyond any magic that washing machines or dry-cleaners could perform. She’d have to throw it away when she got home. 

If she ever got home.

She had no idea how long she had been unconscious but it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. 

“How big is this place?” Carla asked no one as she grabbed another tape recorder off the shelf that she noticed. She read the label ‘Voice of: Thomas Connor (Gent Inc.)’. Carla had heard of the Gent company. She had a client from there a couple years back. It was a mechanical and technology corporation that specialized in machines and robotics and other subjects of the like.

“It's dark and it’s cold, and stuck behind every single wall now. In some places, I swear this godforsaken ink is clear up to my knees!”

The voice was different from the one Carla had heard from the recorder on the upper floor. It was deeper and grittier. It carried a heavy, gravelly tone to it that reminded Carla of villains from superhero movies. 

“Whoever thought that these crummy pipes could hold up under this kind of strain, either knows something about pressure I don’t, or he’s some kind of idiot. But the worst part about all this... are them noises the system makes. Like a dying dog on its last legs.”

There was no date written on the recording, but it certainly couldn’t have been too long before the studio shut down, given the way this Connor fellow described the conditions of the pipe system not being too different from the various health code violations Carla’s been seeing for the last hour at least.

“Make no mistake, this place… this… machine… heck this whole darn thing… It just isn't natural.

You can bet I won't be doing anymore repair jobs, for Mister Joey Drew…”

Carla was feeling a bit jittery after that audio recording. She didn’t like the way he sounded. He sounded cold and emotionless when he referred to his client, Mr. Joey Drew. He sounded tired and even a little bit scared. What exactly happened here? 

A door creaked open to the far end of the room. Carla poked her head through the door and noticed a staircase and a landing that turned to another staircase heading down. 

“Guess I have no choice…” She felt the same feeling of dread she had felt when she couldn’t open the exit door. Her stomach twisted. She was beginning to suspect more and more, that this was intentional. 

Down the stairs Carla went, looking back every now and then to make sure she wasn’t being followed. She noted that the farther down she went, the accumulation of candles began to grow and gradually replaced the electric lighting from the ceiling. She also took notice of the sheet music scattered around the landings of the stairwells. They were wet and covered with dust and ink but readable. She picked up a copy and read the title, ‘The Lighter Side of Hell’. It was piano music with an accompaniment of banjos and other instruments. She let the paper drop to the floor as she came across a room flooded with ink at the bottom of the last stairwell.

A cringe crossed her features at the thought of having to wade through the stinking tar. But the valve to drain the fluid was on the other side of the room, next to the door she needed access to in order to continue her little escapade. 

She held her breath as she descended into the ink, it almost came up to her chest as she slowly but surely pushed her legs forward. The ink was a little thicker than water, almost the consistency of blood. The sheer amount of it made it difficult for Carla to move but she pressed on, groaning each time the ink squelched and splashed up as if it were reaching for her. The liquid felt cold despite the room being rather warm, and it made her shiver.

She gripped the valve and turned it. It made a slight squeak as the rust broke away and the sound of a drain gulping down ink filled the room. Soon the substance disappeared into the cracks in the floorboards, leaving small stains and puddles behind. Carla sighed in relief, despite her clothes being completely turned black by the ink. 

She opened the door into a new room. This room had a wall full of gears, steam pipes and other mechanical parts moving in a rhythmic motion. The sounds they produced almost made a sort of symphony of steam and moving metal. Next to the wall was a table on wheels. Carla quickly grabbed the axe off the table and examined it. It was a standard emergency axe to be used in situations of a fire or building collapse. The blade was still sharp, so Carla decided to take the weapon with her. It didn’t hurt to have a little more reassurance.

That reassurance was soon gone when she turned to the other wall.

‘THE CREATOR LIED TO US’

Her hands tightened around the axe. Who was the creator? Who did they lie to? Who was writing these messages? Carla figured the creator must’ve been Joey Drew. But what was this about him lying? She hated not having the answers to these questions. She hated being unsure, considering her whole life she had always been sure of everything. 

With a deep inhale, and immediate regret following the horrible stench of chloroform filling her nose, Carla continued on.

The axe broke through the boards covering the next doorway easily. Carla stepped through the splintered pieces of wood and opened the door to the next room, which surprisingly slid open easily without squeaking or shuttering. 

The rumble in the building started soft, but soon grew to the point where Carla was leaning against the wall for support. The shaking caused the ceiling to collapse again, blocking the way Carla came. She had no choice but to go into the next room. 

‘This must be some sort of earthquake!’ She thought as she tried to steady herself away from the wall. She was beginning to get a headache from the intensity of the vibrations.

Carla stumbled into the room trying to control her increasingly aching temples until suddenly she felt a wave of shock spread throughout her body. She saw images flash through her mind. Was she hallucinating? An image of a wheelchair, an image of the strange machine, and an image of the creature she saw earlier passed through her vision.

Then, overcome with a wave of tiredness, she blacked out.


	5. The Old Songs and The Prophet Who Sings Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist meets an unlikely ally who prays that sacrifice will break the cycle.

The soft candle light flickered silently in the darkness of the dreary room. The wood that made up the walls and floor creaked and groaned from age and years of stillness, like an old man getting up off the couch for the first time all day. 

Carla’s temples pulsed and her forehead throbbed from where she hit it on the floor when she collapsed. She slowly sat up, hoping the aching in her limbs would subside with time. She rubbed her forehead and ran a hand through her messy, sweat filled hair.

“What happened?” She groaned as she pulled herself up to lean against something large and wooden. It was slanted, so it couldn’t have been the wall. Carla felt it with the tips of her fingers as she regained her vision slowly. The object was made from wood, but this wood was smooth and sanded down, made into the shape of a box. 

A coffin. It was a coffin.

Carla blinked a few times, letting her eyes adjust to the light as she looked upwards. And her suspicions were confirmed; it was a coffin. And there was more than one. There were at least three in this room. None of them had labels or names on them, and they were nailed securely shut. Carla made a face of disgust as she stood up slowly and backed away.

“What’s going on in this place?” She picked up her axe off the floor. Carla began to question her previous theories of kidnapping. Clearly, there was something much bigger going on, judging by the machine, the satanic ritual circles and, of course, the coffins.

“Let’s see what’s inside these things.” Carla stuck the butt of the axe between the coffin and it’s lid. She began to pry away at the wood, which practically crumbled away at the force. How long had these coffins been sitting there?

After about a minute, the lid of the coffin finally popped off and Carla slowly removed it to reveal what was inside. 

It was a skeleton.

Carla’s nose was overwhelmed with the smell of mildew, moths, and rot. She pinched her nose and nearly gagged. The skeleton was moments away from crumbling to dust and it had tatters of what used to be clothes hanging from the shoulders and pelvic bone. The bones were a gross yellow-brown color, and the teeth were completely rotten. Carla fought back the urge to puke up what she had eaten for breakfast that morning.

“Looks like Joey Drew Studios had some deaths on the job…” Carla slowly leaned the lid back on the coffin, careful not to disturb the remains of the body.

Backing away from the assortment, Carla quickly yanked open a side door. There was another staircase that went down. The sign above the staircase displayed directions, the music department was straight ahead, and the art department was back the way Carla came. She sighed and continued on down the staircase, now used to the creaking wood under her feet.

She turned the corner into a new room full of instruments and candles. The glow of the room illuminated two other coffins in the corner. More Bendy posters and power boxes full of switches decorated the walls. There was also more inky writing.

‘HE WILL SET US FREE’

“Who’s he?” Carla questioned aloud before playfully plucking a string on the banjo propped up in the corner. The banjo was out of tune but it still made a decent sound. The echo of the instrument filled the room as Carla grabbed another tape recorder off the shelf near a bowl of soup. The label read, ‘Voice of: Sammy Lawrence (music department director)’. She felt the dreaded feeling in her stomach rise up again.

“He appears from the shadows, to rain his sweet blessings upon me. A figure of ink that shines in the darkness…”

A shiver went up Carla’s spine at the sound of the voice. It was low and raspy, like he was whispering into the recorder in a broom closet. He spoke like a pastor giving a sermon.

“I see you, my savior, I pray that you hear me… Those old songs, yes, I still sing them. For I know you are coming to save me, and I will be swept into your final loving embrace… But, love requires sacrifice. Can I get an amen?”

The recording ended with a click as Carla placed it back on the shelf.

“I said, can I get an amen?”

Carla froze. That wasn’t her voice. It was the same voice she just heard, Sammy Lawrence. Except, the recorder was off.

“Hello?” Carla looked up at the ceiling, turned the corner to check the staircase and down the hall again. There was no response except for the dripping of ink and the groaning of wood.

“Mr. Lawrence?” 

Nothing.

Continuing on, Carla turned down a hallway. This hallway was flooded with ink dripping from huge holes in the ceiling. She sighed as she was sunk up to her ankles in ink, and she waded her way down the corridor. She suddenly had a strong feeling again, that she was being watched.

She froze again when she looked up and saw a man standing there, staring at her.

It looked like a man, at least shape wise. The form was dripping with ink, and it was carrying a Bendy cutout under its arm. Its face was covered by a tattered, ink stained mask that looked like Bendy's face, if it weren’t so broken and covered with mildew and stains. Behind the mask, Carla couldn’t make out any features of a face, or hair. The thing was wearing a pair of beige overalls that were surprisingly clean, save for stains around the knees and feet. It’s chest heaved up and down slowly as if it had been waiting with anticipation for Carla to arrive.

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Carla spoke.

“Hello-”

“Where is he?” The creature cut her off. It sounded a lot like the voice she had heard not a moment before. But, this couldn’t be Sammy Lawrence, could it?

“Excuse me?” Her hands gripped the axe tighter, ready to strike.

“Where is he?” The creature asked again, it’s chest moving slightly faster, and its hand tightening around the cardboard under its arm. 

“I don’t know who you’re talking about…” Carla took a step back, not taking her eyes off the creature.

“You’re not him… You’re not Henry…” The creature muttered as it dropped the cardboard cutout. So, this thing was expecting Henry? Has he come through this hallway before?

“Sorry to disappoint,” Carla said sarcastically. “But can you tell me where I am? And who you are?”

The creature took a moment to respond.

“I don’t remember my name. My only memories are of our savior, the ink demon.”

“Are you Sammy Lawrence?” Carla already knew the answer, but the creature still took a second to respond.

“If that is what my lord has deemed me, then yes.” Sammy adjusted his mask, leaving an inky fingerprint in the corner of it.

“Can you tell me what’s going on?” Carla took a few steps towards what she hoped was her new ally in this mess. Sammy was now trembling.

“I-I don’t know. I have given everything to the ink demon. Hoping and praying that we can break this cycle… But alas nothing has worked. Henry is our only hope.”

“Henry is who I’m looking for. Do you know where he is?” Carla was about three feet away from Sammy now. The music director looked disgruntled and frightened, like someone who’s daily routine was greatly disturbed.

“I- I might know… He may be close by… are you sent by my savior to set us free?”

Carla wasn’t quite sure how to answer that question. She didn’t want to lie to this poor man, but she was afraid of what he would do to her if she said no.

“Yes, I need Henry, please take me to him.”

Sammy’s aura lit up at the mention of Carla being some sort of prophet. Without warning he grabbed her hand, and took her down the ink filled corridor. They turned the corner and went through a large gateway into the music department, as labeled by the sign on the wall. 

“He must be in here somewhere, Prophet.” Sammy gestured to the entirety of the department. Carla looked around and picked up another recorder from off the floor near the trash can. This recorder was also labeled for Sammy Lawrence.

“So first, Joey installs this ink machine over our heads, then it begins to leak. Three times last month We couldn’t even get out of our department because the ink had flooded the stairwell…”

Carla turned toward the mentioned staircase. Just as Sammy had described, it was flooded with ink. She grimaced and turned back to the recorder.

“Joey’s solution? An ink pump to drain it periodically. Now I’ve got this ugly pump switch right in my office, people in and out all day. Great, thanks Joey, just what I needed; more distractions. These stupid cartoon songs don’t write themselves, you know…”

“Sammy, where’s your office?” Carla looked around for her new companion. He was busy pulling a switch on the stairwell landing. The lights flickered on and the pipes sprung to life, dripping puddles of ink on the floor. Just as Sammy was about to respond, Carla felt something cold and wet grab her leg.


	6. The Old Songs Have Been Put To Rest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carla and her new friend solve the newest set of puzzles. But Carla realizes that there were more people stuck in here than she thought.

“EUGH!” Carla screeched and reeled back as the puddle of ink beside her began to shake and slop across the floor towards her. The hand that had grabbed her now had an arm, and a torso attached to it. The half bodied creature was moaning and groaning loudly as it dripped ink onto the floor. He reached for Carla as it inhaled a raspy breath.

Carla sent the axe flying into the creature's head. It shrieked as it reeled back and disappeared back into the puddle it crawled out of. Sammy was cowering in a corner. Carla ran over to him and held her hand out to him to help the trembling man stand.

“Come on, Lawrence! Get up!” Carla pulled the music director up by the strap of his overalls as she hit more inky creatures with the axe in her other hand. Surprisingly, Sammy didn’t weigh much at all. But Sammy was still trembling and whimpering like a lost puppy.

“I-I can’t go back.” He kept whispering in his cold voice.

“I can’t go back. He’ll be disappointed in me.” 

With the last in creature gone, Carla panted as she sat against the wall to catch her breath. Sammy was still shaking beside her. This was gonna be a lot harder than Carla thought.

“Let’s just get to the pump.” Carla noticed that a gate had opened to the side of the room. The gate revealed a long hallway with a Bendy cutout leaning against the wall at the end, staring the pair down as if it were alive and watching them. She destroyed the cutout when they reached the end of the hallway. 

“Well, here’s your office…” Carla looked up at the sign, ‘Office of Samuel Lawrence: Music Department Director’. Sammy backed away from the flow of ink spewing from the pipe above the door, while Carla grabbed the recorder on the shelf on the opposite wall. It was another recording from Wally Franks. She raised an eyebrow as she pressed play; this kid sure liked to record himself.

“So I go to get my dustpan from the hall closet the other day, and guess what; I can’t find my stupid keys! It’s like they disappeared into thin air or something! All I can think of is that they must’ve fallen into one of the garbage cans as I was making my rounds last week! I just hope nobody tells Sammy… cause if he finds out I lost my keys again, I’m outta here!”

Carla jumped as Sammy suddenly appeared by her shoulder. He was slightly taller than her.

“He lost his keys again?” Sammy’s voice suddenly lost its smooth cold tone. It sounded more now like someone with emotion, someone who cared about what they were saying. It carried a hint of life in it again.

“That stupid janitor thinks he’s better than me just because he’s been here longer? Joey only hired him as an intern cause the ink kept staining the floors.” Sammy took off his mask and crossed his arms. His face was pitch black and his eye sockets were sunken in and nearly hollow. His black toothless mouth dripped with ink and stunk of mold whenever he opened it.

Carla scrunched up her nose and kept her mouth shut to be polite.

“Well to get inside your office we either need to break the window, or stop the leak.” She pressed her hand flat against the glass of the large window. It didn’t look too thick, she concluded that it was breakable.

“Stand back.” Carla raised the axe and brought it down on the window. The glass cracked instantly; spreading across the material to the wooden frame like a spiderweb. The axe came down on the glass again and the window shattered. The pieces of dusty glass sparkled in the yellow light as they fell from the wooden frame. Carla held up a piece of the Bendy cut out to protect herself from the shards. Sammy lifted himself through the window with his bony arms. 

“Hit the pump switch and get back out here… I’ve got a bad feeling that we’re being watched…” Carla looked back down the hallway as Sammy used all of his weight to press down on the lever. The pipes groaned as the ink drained from the stairwell.

“Lets go.” She helped the music director back through the window, and they quickly made their way back towards the stairwell. But before they could reach the landing, Sammy grabbed Carla’s hand. He pointed back towards a closed door.

“I need to grab my music.”

“Your what?”

“My music… I need to grab it… I won’t be long.”

“Fine.” Carla sighed as Sammy bounced a little like an excited toddler and shuffled his way over to the door. 

“Go upstairs and turn on the projector when I give a signal.” He disappeared through the door and Carla went up the gestured staircase, a little confused.

The stairs led to a balcony that overlooked the band room where the musical recording took place. It was a huge room, nearly twenty feet high, with microphones hanging from all corners to capture all the instruments' sounds. There were several violins placed neatly on the rows of chairs, a cello and a bass propped up in the corner, a drum sitting in the back row, another banjo up against the wall, and a piano in the far right corner. The voice actors booth was behind glass next to the piano, and a closed metal gate sat next to the booth.

Carla saw Sammy run past the instruments and he waved to her. As he waved, she took it as a signal to start the projector, so she flipped the switch. A rough animation of a silent Bendy cartoon played on the wall. Bendy was playing and dancing with an animated skeleton. 

While Sammy was busy doing whatever he needed to do to retrieve his music, Carla sat down in one of the chairs, audio recording in hand. The label read, ‘Voice of: Norman Polk (projectionist)’.

“Every day the same strange thing happens… I’ll be up here in my booth, the band will be swingin’ and suddenly Sammy Lawrence just comes marching in and shuts the whole thing down! Tells us all to wait in the hall!”  
Norman Polk sounded like an older man. His voice was worn out and tired, but still full of fire and passion, like he was content with the life he had and wanted to continue his daily routine until he was one foot in the grave. 

“Then I hears him. He starts up my projector and he dashes from the projection booth and down to the recording studio, like the little devil himself was chasing behind… A few seconds later, projector turns off. But Sammy, oh no, he don’t come out for a long time… This man is weird. Crazy weird! … I got half a mind to talk to Mister Drew about all this, I really do. But then again I gotta admit… Mister Drew’s got his own, peculiarities.”

Carla placed the recording back down on the table. She heard groaning coming from the now open metal gate next to the recording booth. The sound stopped and was replaced with Sammy’s voice. Was he talking to someone?

Making her way down into the recording room Carla called out to her new friend.

“Mr. Lawrence?” She stepped through the gate and into the tiny room. There was a pipe with a valve attached in one corner, and a desk pressed up against the opposite wall. Sammy sat at the desk muttering things to someone out of Carla’s view. She raised an eyebrow as she saw one of those ink creatures poking its head and shoulders through a toilet bowl. The creature wore a copper brown bowler hat on it’s bald head. The toilet was covered with ink, but it surprisingly didn’t smell. Either that, or Carla’s nose was beginning to get used to the smells of this horrific place.

“What do you think of this, Jack?” Sammy held out a paper in his bony fingers. The ink creature, who Carla presumed to be Jack, took the paper in two fingers, trying his best not to stain the music that Sammy had written. The creature looked at it for a moment before groaning in response. 

“Mr. Lawrence. I hate to interrupt whatever this is… But we gotta go.” Carla rested her hand against her hip as Sammy sighed and stood up like a toddler complaining about leaving a playground.

“We must take Jack with us.” Sammy held out another recorder to Carla. 

“How many of these are there?” She questioned aloud as she read the label, ‘Voice of: Jack Fain (lyricist)’.

“A lot of employees liked to voice their grievances to anyone who would listen. Even if it was just a tape recorder.” Sammy replied while Carla pressed the play button.

“I love the quiet, and that's hard to come by in these busy times. Yeah, sure it may stink to high heaven down here, but it’s just perfect for an old lyricist like me. Sammy’s songs always got some bounce, but if I didn't get away once in a while, they’d never have any words to go with them. So, I keep my mind a-singin’ and uh, my nose closed.”

The voice was rather nasally. Jack Fain sounded like your typical high school nerd, and if he wore that hat, Carla wouldn’t be surprised if he looked like one too. She puts the recorder on the desk and sighed.

“Alright… we can take him with us, but you’re carrying him.” Carla watched as Sammy lifted the blob of ink out of the toilet and placed him inside a jar. The jar was no bigger than your typical mason jar, but Jack managed to squeeze his blobby body inside it. Sammy carried the jar in his arms like one would hold a newborn baby. He held Jack’s bowler hat in his other hand. Carla kept a firm grip on her axe.

“Ok, let’s get out of here.”


	7. Buddy Boris and Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our protagonist makes a new friend, and discovers more clues as to what exactly happened when this studio was operational.

Carla, Sammy and Jack continued on to the stairwell. Noticing that it was now drained with only a single puddle of ink in front of the door, Carla quickly scurried down the steps to what she hoped was an exit. 

“Prophet wait-” Sammy called. But it was too late. The hands reached out of the ink and grabbed Carla’s ankles. She screamed as she went to strike the hands with her axe but as she lifted the weapon she felt herself being pulled into the puddle as if it were the deepest ocean. She choked and sputtered as she felt the axe slip from her grasp. The ink felt like water as she sunk into it. She didn’t dare open her eyes for fear of what the slimy liquid would do to them if she did. The hands on her ankles continued to pull her down; the bony fingers digging into her flesh through her pants. Carla began to hear something; a whistle. It was a simple whistle, a rather pleasant tune, but in the context of the situation it was more threatening. Carla didn’t like it. It sounded like death.

Carla felt a pair of hands grab hers, they began to pull her back up towards the light. The light was so bright that she could see it through her eyelids. She kicked at the other set of hands around her ankles, desperately trying to free herself. The hands unlatched themselves from their grip on her ankles and disappeared back into the puddles as she felt the hands on her wrists pull her back up.

She gasped as she inhaled a deep breath of musty air. Carla panted and climbed out of the ink coughing, leaning against a wall and rubbing her eyes. Her vision was blurry but she saw the rough shape of a humanoid figure standing over her, wiping the ink off her the best they could. Carla groaned.

“Thanks for getting me out of there.” 

The mysterious person gave no response as they handed something to Carla. It felt like a metal can. Carla’s vision came back into focus a moment later, and she discovered she was staring at… 

“Boris?!” Carla stood up and made a grab for her axe, only to realize that she had lost it in the ink. Her chest heaved with panic as the animated wolf stood upright and gestured to the can in her hand. It was a can of bacon soup. She had seen the cans scattered around the studio. Did Boris want her to eat it? Carla pried the can lid open and sniffed the contents. It didn’t smell as horrible as the other things she had smelled in this place, but she didn’t know if it was safe to eat. She was very hungry though…

“To hell with it.” Carla said bottoms up as she took a swig of the soup. The liquid was salty and tasted a bit like brine, but the bacon flavor and the chunks of marinated veggies balanced out the saltiness. It wasn’t half bad for a thirty year old can of soup.

“Thanks for the soup… Boris…” 

Boris nodded, his long ears bobbing with his head as he grabbed another can; this can was full of ink. The wolf dipped his finger into the liquid and turned his back to Carla, facing a wall. Boris began adding letters to a message on the wall. It was a new message that Carla hadn’t seen before.

‘THE MACHINE MUST ENDURE’

“You’re the one that’s writing on the walls?” Carla slowly stood up. Boris set the can down once he was finished and turned back to Carla. He took her hand, his large white glove folding around her hand almost entirely. He led her away from the wall, his large black shoes leaving strange footprints. Carla looked around as he led her through the narrow hallways. She kept seeing the same messages written on the walls.

‘HE WILL SET US FREE.’  
‘DREAMS COME TRUE’  
‘THE CREATOR LIED TO US’

Carla wished she had her notepad so she could write some of this down. But she had a feeling she wouldn’t have a difficult time remembering any of this. Boris’s ears bounced and his rosy cheeks flushed a darker grey as he took Carla to a safer part of the studio. As they entered the safehouse, Carla looked around. 

It was a small place, there were only a few rooms. There was a decent sized bedroom with a cot and a hammock for two people to sleep in, a long hallway that split off to a bathroom, and a kitchen with a sitting area. The door to exit the safehouse was nearby the table, where a record player was humming a jazzy song softly. Boris shut the safehouse door and went over to the little table. He sat in a chair and grabbed a set of playing cards. He bobbed his head to the music as he made a mark on a piece of paper. The paper seemed to be a scoring chart for the card game. There were two names on the paper and underneath the names, tally marks to indicate how many games had been won. 

“Boris and… Henry.” Carla picked up the paper and read the name again. Henry was here too? It seems like he was very well known in this place. She put the paper down and sighed.

“Sammy and Jack, where are they?” Carla suddenly remembered her friends. She must’ve left them in the music department, or they might’ve gone out the door and left Carla behind. She had no idea where she was now, she didn’t recognize anything, but then again the place was pretty much the same everywhere she looked. Boris stood up and took her over to a little wall next to the kitchen. 

“Boris… what is this?”

The pieces of cardboard and paper were stuck together. Elements of Bendy, Boris and even the other characters of the studio, Alice Angel and The Butcher Gang were ripped apart and reassembled together again. The mangled menace had Bendy’s smile, except it was flipped upside down into a frown. It’s eyes looked sad as if it were crying out for help, and its arms were mixed and matched all with different shades of yellowish white and varying lengths. The string holding these pieces together was black and splintering into frayed ends. 

Carla looked over at Boris who was staring at the creature with the same blank look on his face. He looked at Carla and whimpered like a puppy slightly. She patted his shoulder awkwardly.

“Come on buddy, it's gonna be ok.” 

The wolf’s ears perked up with the word ‘buddy’. Carla raised an eyebrow.

“Buddy?”

Boris stood at attention and his nose wiggled.  
“Is that your real name?” Carla was beginning to understand what might have happened here. Perhaps Joey was using the ink machine on the first floor to turn his employees into cartoon characters. Judging off Sammy and Jack, he was only partially successful. That was why the studio needed so much ink.

“PROPHET!”

Carla’s train of thought was suddenly interrupted when she realized that Boris had opened the door to the safehouse. Sammy, mason jar and hat in hand, shuffled quickly across the floor to Carla. Jack’s empty eyes through the jar showed the slightest bit of excitement at seeing his new friend. 

“I found this.” Sammy handed Carla another audio recording. ‘Voice of: Susie Campbell (voice actress for Alice Angel)’

“It may only be my second month working for Joey Drew. But I can already tell, I’m gonna love it here! People really seem to enjoy my Alice Angel voice! Sammy says she may be as popular as Bendy someday...These past few weeks, I’ve voiced everything from talking chairs to dancing chickens. But this is the first character I’ve really felt a connection with, like she’s a part of me. Alice and I… we’re going places…”

“I’ve never heard of a Susie Campbell…” Carla set the recording down on the table. She sighed. She didn’t know what to do next. She had no idea where she was, or where the nearest exit was, or what sorts of creatures were lurking outside the safehouse doors. 

“I suggest our next course of action should be to find Henry… if we find him, perhaps we can help in his quest to break the cycle.” Sammy gripped the jar with Jack inside tight in his bony fingers. 

“I’m not leaving here without some kind of weapon.” Carla looked around and grabbed a pipe off the floor. It was big enough to be used as a weapon but small enough to carry in one hand. 

“Ok… let’s go get Henry.”

Boris bounced slightly as he opened the safehouse door and led the group outside. Carla held up the pipe as the group continued down the hall. She stayed clear of any puddles or stains on the inky floor.

They came across a dark hallway. There was a door boarded shut with two planks of wood on the right. 

“Sammy, do you know which hallway Henry went down?” Carla turned to the music director.

“That one.” Sammy pointed his inky finger at the hallway shrouded in darkness. Carla began to use her pipe and pry the boards off the other door.

“Help me get this door open.”


	8. Golden Ink and A Stranger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our group leaves the safehouse and takes a different route than the one usually taken. They discover new secrets, and possibly the thing that might save the studio.

Sammy quickly gave the mason jar to Boris and quickly helped Carla pull the boards off the door. The music director tried the handle and the door slipped open rather easily, as if it had been used many times before. Carla poked her head through the door to look around. There was a long hallway and a Bendy cutout leaning against the wall. 

There was the faint sound of crying coming from around a corner.

“I think I hear someone…” Her hand gripped the pipe, ready to strike. Boris shivered slightly as his gloved fingers gripped the jar and the hat.

Carla tiptoed down the hall with Sammy following close behind. The crying got louder as Carla turned the corner. A woman was sitting against the wall, her arms wrapped around her knees and her head buried between them. Her short black hair was messy and clotted with ink and her clothes, a puffy short sleeved shirt and black pants, were also stained beyond repair. 

“Hello?” Carla knelt down, loosening her grip on the pipe. The girl gasped and looked up, she instinctively backed away a little. She began to pull out a weapon, what looked like a pipe with electrical wires attached to it. Her left hand was completely black and had a swirling gold stream of ink covering the back. Carla held up her hands.

“It’s ok! We’re friends… I’m Carla...what’s your name?” 

“A-Audrey… I think.” The girl seemed unsure. Her face was covered with stains and streams of ink ran from her hair all the way down her chin. Her eyes were glowing a bright yellow. 

“Hey Audrey… do you know where we are?” Carla sat down on the floor. Sammy knelt down behind her. Boris plopped down like a child, Jack in his arms. Audrey slowly began to relax.

“We’re in Joey Drew Studios… that’s all I know… I don’t remember how long I’ve been stuck down here… There’s so many secrets I haven’t discovered yet, and stuff I don’t understand…”

Just as Audrey finished speaking there was a thud from behind her. She was on her feet in a heartbeat, holding her strange looking pipe in front of her. She trembled. The rest of the group stood. Carla held her pipe, Sammy hid behind her and Boris was shivering.

The lights flickered on and off, revealing a pile of ink that had begun to take the form of a person. Audrey gasped and ran to the next door which had some sort of strange lock on it. 

“No no no no!” Audrey muttered as she worked the lock with her electric pipe. Carla kept her front to the creature while Audrey worked the lock. Boris whimpered as he gripped the mason jar so tightly Carla thought it would shatter.

There was a ding noise from behind them and Audrey quickly opened the door. 

“Come on!” Audrey hurried everyone through the door just as the ink creature began to turn the corner. She slammed the door and made sure it was locked. Carla sighed as she leaned against it. 

“I hate this place.” She growled, crossing her arms in a pouting stance.

“Shh.” Audrey pushed Carla against the wall as a short stocky figure came stumbling past the hallway. It was a member of the Butcher Gang, whose posters Carla had seen in the hallway. It grumbled and gargled some sort of strange distorted animalistic noises as it limped down the hall. One of its legs was replaced with a plunger and one of its bendy cartoon arms was replaced with a metal rod. It held a monkey wrench in its left hand. It’s face was long and had hair along the sides like a normal person would, but it’s mouth hung open and dripped black ink. One eye was sewn shut and the other was an empty hollow socket.

Audrey quickly ran towards the creature and grabbed it’s arm. The creature let out a shriek before slowly being consumed with golden light and fading into thin air. Carla gasped. Audrey turned back to her with sadness in her eyes.

“I told you I don’t quite understand my abilities yet.” 

Boris sniffled. Sammy inspected the spot where the creature stood before it disappeared.

“You have the golden ink…” Sammy quickly stood up. He pointed a bony finger at Audrey.

“What’s your last name?” He asked. Audrey tightened her grip on her pipe.

“Stein… I’m Audrey Stein…”

Sammy suddenly was down on his knees. He grabbed Audrey’s shirt.

“It’s you! You can save us all! You have the golden ink! I prophecy said that you would plunge into the machine and purge this place of evil! What was done will be undone! Bendy will rise again and set us free!”

“Sammy stop shouting!” Carla quickly grabbed the music director’s shoulder.

“Tell me more about this golden ink.”


	9. Lets Find Some Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our group of heroes meets a heavenly creature.

“All clear” Audrey led the small party around a corner and down a cramped hallway. Carla sneezed.

“Why is there so much dust in this place if it’s flooded with ink?” She muttered irritatedly as she wiped her nose with her sleeve. Sammy looked up at the large vents on the ceiling.

“Perhaps air from the outside is finding its way here.” The music director put his pointer finger to his chin in thought in an almost cartoonish manner. Boris was sticking close to Carla’s side, even gripping onto her arm at the slightest hint that danger might be near. 

“Whatever it is, I’m allergic.” The detective gripped her pipe tighter as she yawned slightly. Whether it be from actual lack of sleep, or the fact that she was just plain tired of this place, she had no idea.

“This place feels familiar…” Audrey ran her hand along the wall, feeling the mundane grain of the wood across her fingers and palm. Carla noticed another one of the strange looking boxes sitting against the wall.

“What are these things?” Carla opened the door of the station and looked inside. There was a small bench for sitting down, it could fit one person comfortably, two if the occupants didn’t mind being squished together. There was a halo painted on the door with ink. The ink ran down the wood slightly, giving the whole box more of a demonic feel than anything the halo pertained to.

“We just call those Miracle Stations. They protect you from the Ink Demon and his cronies. They’re scattered all throughout this place. Besides the safe house you came from, it’s the only place where people can have a minute of peace before they continue searching for a way out of here.” Audrey watched as Carla closed the door of the station again. 

“Hey! Come look at this!” Sammy called from around the next corner. The group rushed around the corner to see what the music director was so fascinated by. There was a large room full of shelves, stacked full of toys. Plushies of Bendy, Boris and Alice Angel lined the walls. Carla felt like their lifeless black eyes were watching them, just like the cutouts. Several ticking clocks were perched up on the wood, little hands swinging as their ticking sound filled the emptiness. There were puddles of ink staining the floor and walls, like the Ink Demon himself came in here and threw a massive tantrum, spattering ink all over the place in a fit of rage. Toy trains rested on the floor next to an assortment of Bendy cutouts. Carla hated those cutouts.

“We must be close to the toy factory…” Audrey opened the door at the end of the room to, just as she expected, reveal the toy factory.

“Wow.” Carla led the group into the huge expanse of the toy factory. The ceiling was at least 30 feet high, and surprisingly there were no inky leaks. Model airplanes hung from the high ceiling, and posters littered the walls. Carla noticed a few new posters in addition to the ones she had seen before, one about Bendy becoming a firefighter, a chef, and one called “Hell In A Handbasket”. Carla wondered how cartoons like that could ever be advertised to children. 

Even more Bendy cutouts littered the floor and sofas pressed against the walls. There was another Miracle Station near the rear of the room. The station faced a giant fountain of ink that doubled as a sign for the factory. The sign said “Heavenly Toys” with a flickering gold halo around the T. 

“Jack?” Sammy held out the jar with the bouncing blob of ink inside it.

“Do you recognize this place?” The music director unscrewed the lid of the jar and let the lyricist poke his inky head out. Jack pointed an inky finger towards the fountain of ink. Sammy dumped the jar into the pool at the bottom of the fountain. The blob of ink that was once Jack Fain began to take the shape of a man, similar to the music director. The inky man climbed out of the fountain and placed his bowler hat on his head. His eyes were glowing gold and ink dribbled from his chin in sticky strands. 

“Now you don’t have to carry me around.” The nasally voice of Jack Fain spoke from the creature. Boris clapped softly like he just witnessed a wonderful magic trick. In a way, one could suppose that it was a magic trick. A sick and twisted magic trick but one nonetheless.

“Great. We should keep moving.” Audrey was already climbing a nearby staircase into a small side room. This room was also full of toys. Huge belt wheels lined the walls, like the ones inside giant assembly line factories. Stuffed plushies lined the shelves and plenty of their remains were scattered throughout the room, dolls missing heads, legs and arms missing bodies and other things of the like. 

“Why is there always something blocking the door?” Carla looked over to Audrey who was pouting slightly as she assessed the swinging shelf of toys positioned in front of the door.

“There's gotta be a way to move it. Look around for something we can use. ” Carla spoke to Audrey as she snatched another recording off a nearby table. It read, ’Voice of: Shawn Flynn (Head of toy manufacturing). She pressed play as Boris began playing with a small blob of ink on the table.

“I don’t be seeing what the big deal is! So what if I went in and painted some of those Bendy dolls with a crooked smile? That’s sure no reason for Mister Drew to be flyin’ off the handle at me!”

Carla immediately took note of Shawn Flynn’s strong irish accent. He must've been commissioned by Mr. Drew from overseas. The toymaker sounded fed up and irritated, especially when he addressed Joey Drew by name. Judging by the state of the business and how Joey, supposedly, treated his employees, Carla wasn’t surprised in the slightest. There was obvious background noise in the recording, the whirring and clicking of machines operating and loud popping noises that sounded like the engine of an old car going off. 

“And if he really wants to be so helpful he could be telling me what I’m to be doin’ with this warehouse I got full of that angel whatchamacallit! Not a scrap of that mess be a-sellin’... probably have to melt it all down to be rid of it all.”

“So Alice Angel's doll wasn’t selling?” Sammy finished helping Audrey fix the belt and move the shelves full of toys.

“Not surprised. She wasn’t too well received by the public, especially the younger kids.” Sammy snipped. Carla noticed there was more emotion in his words; he was becoming more and more human with every sentence he spoke. . Jack pulled the lever and the shelf moved, clearing up the way to the door. Boris excitedly moved to the door and opened it. The wolf skipped inside, his friends following not long after. 

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this.” Audrey held up her pipe as the door closed behind them. Carla turned towards the lit up stage as a recorder began to play a lovely tune. A female voice began to sing.

“I’m the cutest little angel sent from above and I know just how to swing. I’ve got a bright little halo and I’m filled with love~ I’m Alice Angel!” 

The girl's voice was perky and sweet. Carla felt a sickening feeling in her stomach at the noise, even though it was meant to bring joy.

“I’m the hit of the party, I’m the belle of the ball and I’m the toast of every town! Just one little dance and I know you’ll fall, I’m Alice Angel!”

Carla got closer to the stage and pressed her hand against the glass again.

“I ain’t no flapper I’m a classy dish, and boy can this girl sing! This gal can grant your every wish-” 

“CARLA!” Audrey yanked the detective away from the window just as the inky hands pressed against the other side of the glass. 

“I’M ALICE ANGEL!” The woman screamed as she pressed up against the glass. She looked like Alice Angel, except she wasn’t. She couldn’t be. Her horns were longer, the halo stuck out of her head, bouncing with her when she moved it. Her one good eye was sunken in and discolored a disgusting yellowish brown. Her mouth was ripped open on one side and her rotten teeth and blackened gums showed through the holes. The side of her face was riddled with growths that looked like spikes and her empty hollow eye socket was dripping with ink. 

The demonic angel gave a blood curdling shriek as she slammed her clenched fists against the glass separating her from the group. Boris whined and shivered as he clung to Carla’s arm. Sammy and Jack hugged each other out of fear. The panel cracked, like a spider web across the dust covered glass.   
Then darkness fell upon them.

When Carla regained her vision, the glass was completely shattered. The angel was gone. 

“Ow, my head.” Carla rubbed her temples as she turned to face her friends. Sammy and Jack were already investigating a newly opened door. Audrey was busy consoling a very frightened Boris. 

“I see you there…” 

Boris whimpered and hid his face in Audrey’s arm as a voice came over the loudspeakers. It was a female voice, but it carried another, heavier voice behind it. 

“A new fly in my endless web… come along now… let’s see if you’re worthy to walk with angels.”

“I don’t think this angel character is on our side…” Carla turned to Audrey who was trying to pry Boris away from her so she could walk.

“I agree.” The black haired girl kept her grip on her electric pipe as she led the way down the newly opened door to another long, twisting hall. 

“I’m starting to get sick of this.” Sammy snapped under his breath. Carla noticed that the music director's appearance began to change almost as much as his personality. Clumps of hair began to poke out from underneath the sticky ink that enveloped his body. Carla could make out faint traces of a nose underneath the torn Bendy mask. Sammy’s posture had changed; he was walking straighter, more upright and with more purpose in his step. His arms were swinging by his sides, propelling him forward with vigor. 

“Looks like we have a choice to make…” Audrey stopped in front of a sign that pointed down two separate hallways. One half of the sign was labeled, ‘Demon’ with devil horns drawn over the O. The second half was labeled, ‘Angel’ with a halo drawn over the A. 

Boris immediately made a run for the angel path, but was stopped by Carla grabbing his overall strap. She looked towards the demon path. The rotting stench of ink radiated from the doorway. 

“Let’s take the demon…” 

Boris whimpered in protest and reached his white gloved hands towards the angel doorway, like a toddler reaching for a candy bar. But Carla quickly yanked the wolf down the demon path before anyone else could disagree with her decision. 

The demon room was completely flooded with ink, dripping in thick gloopy streams from the ceiling. There was a drawing desk covered with ink stained paper resting in the corner. A toy airplane hung from the ceiling next to the Bendy cutout on the wall. Audrey picked up the recorder that was sitting on a chair.

“This one’s from Joey.” She simply said while handing it to Carla. Sure enough the label read, ‘Voice of: Joey Drew (CEO, owner)’.

“There’s nothing wrong with dreaming. Wishing for the impossible is just human nature! That’s how I got started! Just a pencil and a dream!”

Carla didn’t like Joey’s voice. It was condescending in nature, as if he thought he was better than everyone around him. He sounded charming and professional, but Carla could just tell from the sickly sweet undertones of his sultry voice that he was a scumbag.

“We all want everything, without even having to lift a finger! They say, you just gotta believe! Belief can make you succeed!

Belief can make you rich!

Belief can make you powerful…

Why with enough belief, you could even cheat death itself!

Now, that is a beautiful… and positively silly thought…”

After the recording clicked off, the tension that permeated the room was almost as thick as the ink that surrounded them.

“Cheat death... “ Audrey looked down at her blackened hand, her features twisted deep in thought. 

“We have to keep moving… we can figure this out as we walk…” Sammy opened a door on the far end of the room to reveal yet another corridor. Carla was beginning to sense a theme in this studio, old, dusty and forebodingly dark hallways.

The party made their way past another Miracle Station and down a flight of stairs to the elevator. It was an old contraption that looked like it should’ve stopped working when the studio closed, but the carriage arrived at their floor to pick them up without even being told. As the doors opened, the demonic angel’s voice crackled over the loudspeakers.

“You aren’t Henry… I saw you… perhaps we should talk…”

Boris was the first to get on the elevator. He made a gesture with his hands for the rest of the party to jump on as well. Sammy and Jack held each other's hands as they both stepped on together. Carla noticed more clumps of ink sliding off Sammy’s head to reveal the stringy blond hair underneath.

The doors closed and the elevator began to move down as the group settled into their new ride. 

“Come to me now…” The demonic angel whispered in a sultry voice. “Level nine… just follow the screams…”


	10. I'm Just A Lonely Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The angel joins Carla on her mission. Carla also learns that the studio was tight on money back in the day, which led to Mr. Drew making some risky decisions.

Carla tried to take note of the different floors they passed on the elevator. The buttons on the contraption were labeled oddly, some with numbers and some with letters. The metal of the carriage shrieked as it moved, making everyone that heard it visibly cringe. Sammy stood with his arms crossed near the elevator gate. An ever present scowl on his grotesque, darkened face.

He kept muttering menial things like ‘That stupid angel’ and ‘I need a cigarette after all this’. Carla swore she could see the slightest trace of cold icy blue eyes behind the inky darkness of his face. Ever since he had discarded his torn up Bendy mask, he had become a lot more expressive.

Jack and Boris held onto each other, whimpering with anticipation and fear. The long lanky form of Jack Fain was starting to take a more realistic shape now, small and pudgy. Not overweight by any means, but definitely not skin and bones like most of the other creatures in that place. The ink that dribbled down his chin was starting to chip away to reveal traces of skin and a pencil thin mustache under an upturned nose. 

Audrey was another story that Carla couldn’t quite seem to put together when she thought about it. It was as if she had built a puzzle, but a few pieces were missing. Very important pieces. The detective studied her companion as the elevator descended. Audrey’s golden eyes were twinkling in the dim yellow light that flickered from time to time. Her high cheekbones and slightly parted lips gave her a sense of hopelessness, like she was searching in vain for something she hoped to one day discover. Perhaps the missing puzzle pieces. Though it was very unlikely she would find them. Not without help, anyway.

The elevator came to a halt. It made a noise as if it were taking a sigh of relief that it’s task was finally complete. The metal gate slid open with a ding noise.

“Come on, step out of your cage. There’s a whole, twisted, world out here…” The angels sultry voice giggled over the loudspeakers. Carla took a moment to observe the room they found themselves in as they stepped out of the elevator. It was another room with high ceilings, and a river of ink flowing through the center through grates and drains like a sewer system. A staircase descended down to a bridge that extended over the river and led to a large metal door. Above the door was a large model of Alice Angel created out of metal and plastic. Her sickly sweet smile made Carla want to gag.   
Waving a hand, Boris signaled for the group to follow him. He walked with assurance, like he had traveled this path a hundred times before. The metal doors screeched open, revealing a short but twisting hallway. With no warning, Boris made a dash down the hall and around the corner.

“Boris! Wait!” Audrey called after the wolf as she followed him. 

“The angel is waiting for us.” Sammy muttered as he followed behind Carla. They ran to catch up with Boris.

“Oh my god…” Carla scrunched up her nose in horror and disgust. Displayed in front of her was, what she could only describe as, a morgue. A room with high ceilings filled with stinking spewing ink. The disgusting smell of chloroform and rotting flesh nearly made her puke. The ink was filled with a swamp of dead Boris clones, similar to the one Carla had seen on the first floor of the studio. There were new bodies as well. Twisted mangled versions of Bendy’s cartoon rivals, The Butcher Gang. Their bodies were clearly meddled with in some way. Their arms and legs were torn off and replaced with random objects. Their eyes and mouths sewn shut or forced open. Jack’s golden eyes widened and he began to tremble. Sammy’s sunken in blue eyes held a grim grey.

“The angel is heartless.” He muttered under his breath again. Carla slid her way onto the plank of wood that acted like a bridge across the swamp of stinking ink. There was a door on the other side of the room.

“Look around…” The angel spoke. Her voice, sickly sweet and higher in pitch.

“It took so many of them to make me so beautiful. Anything less than perfect, was left behind.” 

Carla’s face twisted with disgust. Sammy followed quickly behind her.

“Sammy and I will go talk with Alice, you three stay here.” Carla gestured to Jack, Audrey and Boris with her pipe as she and Sammy scooted along the planks of wood.

“I had to do it.” The voice echoed again as the metal doors screeched open.

“She made me.”

Sammy’s big black shoes made squelching noises, ink falling off him in big clumps as they got closer to the angel. Alice stood behind thick glass, giggling to herself as she tortured one of the twisted mangled cartoon creatures with an electric chair. 

“You wouldn’t happen to know where my errand boy is? Do you?” Alice scowled down her nose at Carla and Sammy. Sammy hid behind Carla like a toddler hiding behind their mother. The detective sighed. She was exhausted.

“If you’re talking about Henry, no I don’t know where he is. I was sent here to look for him. If you have any information about his whereabouts-” Carla was about to ask the angel if she knew where Henry was, but just the fact that she didn’t know the location of the missing man was enough to make the angel lose her cool. She growled. The growl turned into a shriek of desperation as she punched the panel in front of her. The electric chair buzzed to life, sending shockwaves through the mangled Butcher Gang member that was strapped to it. The sounds the creature made were going to haunt Carla’s nightmares for the rest of her life. 

“This loop is different… everything is different... “ Alice turned off the electric chair with a sigh. She pressed her inky black hand up against the glass, as if reaching out for something.

“I don’t want to do it… But I have to be perfect when I leave here.”

Carla took a second to think, giving Sammy’s shoulder a reassuring pat as he had begun to tremble due to the angel’s outburst. If Alice had control of the elevator, and knowledge of the monsters that roamed this place, she would be a very useful addition to their little group.

“Maybe we can work together.” Carla chose her words carefully, in order to prevent another bout of anger from the angel. Alice raised an eyebrow.

“Help us find Henry. And we’ll help you fix yourself. Then maybe we can all leave this place.” 

The angel suddenly pressed another button. Metal grates slammed shut over the glass windows and a small door opened off to the side. Alice stepped through, smoothing her blackened hair and resting one hand on the side of her face covered in deformities. 

“I’m so close. Almost perfect. I will not let the demon touch me again.” Her voice quivered. Carla placed her hand on Alice’s shoulder hesitantly, as if the dark ink that covered the angel’s body would infect her too if she touched it. She could see the hint of fear in Alice’s eyes at the mention of the Ink Demon.

“Please Alice… we have to get out of here.” Sammy kept a respectable distance as Carla guided Alice out of the dark room and across the boards hovering over the stinking inky bog. Boris hid behind Audrey as his black pie-cut eyes found the angel. He looked at her as if she had grown five extra heads. Alice looked embarrassed. 

“Come… we must hurry.” Audrey guided Boris out of the angel’s lair to the elevator. Jack excitedly picked up an audio log that Carla had not seen previously near the staircase. ‘Voice of: Thomas Connor (GENT Inc.)’.

“These blasted elevators. Sometimes they open, sometimes they don’t. Sometimes they come, and sometimes they keep on going to Hell and back… I keep telling these people! If Mr. Joey Drew keeps cutting corners like this, someone is sure to end up falling to their death. And it sure ain’t gonna be me… I’m taking the stairs.”

Carla didn’t like that. She eyed the elevator with suspicion as if it were going to rub its hands together evilly and chuckle with malice. The detective saw Boris and Jack attempting to open several of the side doors nearby. Boris opened a door. He picked something up and ran over to Carla like an excited child showing their mother something they found. Another audio log. ‘Voice of: Grant Cohen (accountant)’.

“They say, uh, that the real problem with Mr. Drew is that, uh, he never actually tells us little people anything. But, uh, I’m the guy, see, who has to make sure our budgets don’t go all out of whack, just because the genius upstairs went out and got himself another idea… And speaking of which, this is top secret, apparently Mr. Drew has another big project in mind.” 

Cohen sighed, tired and heavy, “And it ain’t gonna be cheap.”


End file.
